


It’s A Wonderful Life

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Christmas wedding, Engagement, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happily Ever After, Humor, Inappropriate Behavior, Jealous!Arthur, Light Angst, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Rimming, Romantic Comedy, Same-Sex Marriage, Stag Night, Sweet!Merlin, Twink!Merlin, Wedding Planning, bottom!Merlin, top!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Arthur looked up from his newspaper. Merlin was going mad with a can of spray snow, dancing around their tree and blitzing it within an inch of its life. With his big ears, marbled green leggings, oversized red woolly jumper and singing socks, he looked exactly like one of Santa’s Elves. A maniacal, unhinged elf.Or: A modern Christmas!AU, where Arthur used to be a serious, reputable and well-dressed solicitor, with a nice, tidy, well-organised life. Then he met Merlin and all hell broke loose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little belated Christmas gift of fluffy X-rated adorableness for all us Merthur <3ers. Enjoy!!

Arthur looked up from his newspaper. Merlin was going mad with a can of spray snow, dancing around their tree and blitzing it within an inch of its life. With his big ears, marbled green leggings, oversized red woolly jumper and singing socks, he looked exactly like one of Santa’s Elves. A maniacal, unhinged elf. Arthur cleared his throat.

“I think it’s covered, sweetheart,” he said in a long-suffering tone. Merlin looked at him and then peered closely at the tree, now laden with crusty white snow.

“I can still see green,” he said, pointing at a spot that was _definitely_ white.

“Even trees in the Alps have some of their needles poking through. This one look’s like it’s withstood a blizzard. If you put any more on it’ll look more like a bloody _cake_. I said you could _dust_ it with snow, not _ice_ it.” Merlin grinned his adorable, dimply smile, which he _knew_ Arthur found impossible to resist, and cocked his head to the side.

“Okay Arthur,” he said amenably. “What else needs a snow _dusting_?”

“Nothing,” Arthur replied adamantly, looking round their snow-blitzed, tinsel-strewn, fairylight-flashing sitting room in mild despair, “Absolutely nothing. Come and relax lamb, there’s an Agatha Christie thing starting in ten minutes. We won’t be able to watch _anything_ when the evil gnomes get here.” The evil gnomes were Arthur’s niece and nephew, Freya and Mordred, his sister Morgana’s children. She and her husband Leon and Merlin’s mum Hunith were coming to stay for Christmas, arriving tomorrow on Christmas Eve. Merlin put the can on the nearest surface (in the middle of a basket of walnuts, Arthur noted, but why not, really), and then stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the room.

“Give me _ooone_ little minute,” he said, waggling a finger at Arthur as he scrambled over the wrapping paper covered floor to the bookcase in the corner,straightening (making more wonky) the enormous glittering reindeer that stood sentry on either side of a hideous robotic dancing Santa. Arthur longed for the days of being single, when ‘decorating for Christmas’ meant buying a tasteful pre-potted poinsettia for the hall table. And then he’d met Merlin and everything had gone to shit, his flat particularly (Merlin the Magic Mess his mother called him), but in a spectacularly wonderful fashion that had irrefutably been the best thing to ever happen to Arthur.

Pre-Merlin, at thirty, Arthur spent his life being a serious and reputable and well-dressed solicitor. Then, two years ago, a breathtakingly beautiful man-boy, haphazardly dressed in a hand-knitted rainbow jumper and purple leggings and scruffy Star Wars converses, had literally _crashed_ into his orderly, grown-up life, with a tooth-decaying coffee that had ruined Arthur’s navy Saville Row suit. Merlin’s hands had flown to his mouth in horror and he’d started apologising profusely, hands ineffectually patting down Arthur’s wet shirt and jacket, shaking his head in dismay and biting his lip nervously, and Arthur had eventually grabbed his hands to calm him down and _that_ was The Moment. Merlin had looked up at him with wide blue eyes, flushed pink, ears peeking out from dark unruly curls, mouth parted in surprise, and Arthur was dazzled. Merlin for his part seemed equally struck by Arthur, staring at him in wonder before breathing out softly, “You look just like Thor.” Arthur had laughed delightedly, noticed that he was still holding the stranger’s hands, and reluctantly released him, only for Merlin to subconsciously reach out for the lost contact before self-awareness kicked in and he dropped his hands and his gaze with an embarrassed smile. “You seem to have lost your drink,” Arthur noted wryly, “shall I buy you another one? I was just going to get a coffee for myself.” Merlin’s face had split into the most endearing, pleased, hopeful beam, eyes-crinkling, and he’d nodded enthusiastically. Somehow that had been it. They clarified names and ages (30 and 23), that Arthur worked in law and that Merlin worked in a vegan music cafe, upcycling furniture as a hobby (despite having a First Class degree from Edinburgh in History of Art), that Arthur liked the theatre and playing squash and that Merlin liked art galleries and yoga, that Merlin was very tactile (one coffee in and his foot was rubbing Arthur’s ankle, his knee bumping Arthur’s, his fingers softly stroking Arthur’s arm). _Five_ coffees later they’d gone back to Merlin’s stamp-sized studio and had the most mind-blowing sex of Arthur’s existence. Merlin was intense and passionate and uninhibited in bed, quite in opposition to his clumsy, scatterbrained day-self, but in all things he was sweet and adorable and funny and quirky and electric; a magnetic, bright flame, and Arthur was instantly besotted. Soon he couldn’t bear to be anywhere that Merlin wasn’t, couldn’t sleep unless Merlin was curled into the crook of his arm, and within weeks Merlin had moved into his very nice three-bedroom period conversion flat, and proceeded to destroy it. Arthur’s bedroom floor was a carpet of clothes. There were felt-tip pens in his toothbrush holder, magazines in his saucepan drawer. The hallway chandelier had been replaced by one of Merlin’s own creations, which looked like it had been made out of coat hangers and smashed bottle glass and Christmas tree lights. His vintage leather sofa was unfathomably paint-splattered (Merlin didn’t paint). But there were also always homemade flapjacks waiting for him, the flat always smelt enticingly warm and cinnamony, and there were little messages on fluorescent post-it notes tucked into unexpected places - inside cupboard doors, on the milk-carton in the fridge - all covered with Merlin’s looping scrawl, _You’re so hot it makes my testicles melt; I love you with everything that I am xxxxxxx; Merlin <3 his handsome dollophead; Come home and kiss me; My body is yours, please use it regularly; Yours forever; Love you love you LOVE you; You make me so happy :D; Don’t keep hiding my penguin-butler salt and pepper shakers you mean clotpole; Can I lick your chest later?; You’re so fluffy I want to DIE_. So Arthur wouldn’t change a single thing.

“Done!” Merlin announced, flinging himself onto Arthur’s lap and wrapping his arms around his waist and intertwining their feet, like an affectionate octopus. Arthur sighed as yet another newspaper was reduced to a crumpled mess, put it to one side, and wrapped his arms around Merlin too, dropping a kiss to his soft curls.

“Thank all that is Holy,” Arthur said archly, stroking his boyfriend’s hair, and peeling a piece of cellotape off the skin behind his ear. “Your wrapping skills need work, cabbage,” he teased, sticking the tape on Merlin’s nose. “This is meant to go on the _paper_ , to hold it together.” Merlin wriggled against him comfortably, mouthing kisses at Arthur’s neck.

“My wrapping is _wonderful_ ,” he said easily, “look at those presents. Even Morgana will be lost for words.” Arthur rather agreed, but for different reasons. Morgana was a painstakingly perfect present wrapper, and Merlin’s wrapping this year was even more eye-watering than usual.

“They’re certainly eclectic,” Arthur reasoned diplomatically, staring at the shiny green paper, purple velvet ribbons, gold star and moon stickers and silver glitter pen _Ho Ho Hos!_ peppering _everything_. Merlin snuffled into his neck.

“Don’t you think they’re pretty?” he murmured sadly, widening his eyes at Arthur imploringly and pouting ridiculously. “Don’t you think the decorations are pretty?” Arthur glared back at him sternly.

“Don’t try and cute your way out of the fact that you have _destroyed_ our flat. Again.” Merlin fiddled with his top button innocently.

“It’s _decorated_ , not destroyed,” he protested. “It looks like Narnia.”

“Yes I particularly like the giant stuffed beavers in the hall,” Arthur replied mildly. “And the tinsel-wrapped boxes of turkish delight in all the bedrooms.” Merlin beamed up at him, and Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes and lean down to kiss him, licking into his soft, warm, gingerbread-flavoured mouth, caressing his jaw as Merlin sighed and wound a hand into Arthur’s hair, pulling him closer. They kissed languidly for a few moments before Arthur felt the heat start in his groin, felt Merlin’s lips claim his more fiercely, and he flipped Merlin belly-down on the sofa, peeling off his leggings and socks, and kissing the delicate arches of his feet, his skinny calves, his slender thighs, before peeling open Merlin’s arse and burying his face in it, licking and sucking his hole, tongue-fucking him until Merlin was moaning and rubbing himself against the cushions. Arthur moved his kisses up Merlin’s spine, pulling off his sweater as he did so, hands sliding round his narrow ribcage to his chest to rub circles on his sensitive nipples, lightly biting his neck, and then finding his mouth, sliding his tongue in to taste Merlin’s, body weight pinning Merlin beneath him. Merlin moaned and pulled away.

“Stop teasing me Arthur,” he commanded bossily, “I need you inside me _right now_.” Arthur chuckled and climbed off Merlin to remove his own jeans and sweater, smiling as Merlin suddenly sat up cheerfully to lick the pre-come off the head of his cock, stroking a thumb along his cheekbone and tipping his head back as Merlin’s hot mouth engulfed him whole, sucking on him thirstily. Arthur pulled back and shook his head, knowing he was already too close, and bent down to retrieve a bottle of lube from the coffee-table drawer (Merlin had ensured there was lube in every room soon after moving in). Arthur sat on the floor and pulled Merlin down into his lap, locking a strong arm around his waist.

“How do you want it, lamb?” he said quietly, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s as he squirted gel onto his two middle fingers and reached round to push them inside Merlin, slowly stroking him open. Merlin locked his legs around Arthur’s waist, feet pushing into his arse, and his arms around Arthur’s neck, eyes closed and groaning softly as he was breached.

“Like this,” Merlin whispered, kissing Arthur, “so we can hug at the same time.” Arthur smiled and continued to kiss Merlin until he was three fingers in, and then lubed up his cock, holding it upright. Merlin shifted upwards and forwards, lining Arthur up with his hole, and then sank down, impaling himself. Arthur had one hand wrapped around his body, and one hand holding his face, which he was watching closely.

“Sore?” he murmured, knowing that he and Merlin had been a little too vigorous last night when they got back from a night with friends in the pub, both drunk and impatient for each other. Merlin nodded, rocking himself tentatively against Arthur’s belly, weeping cock trapped between them.

“M’okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes, foreheads pressed together, one arm locked around Arthur’s body, one his neck, sighing contentedly. “You feel really nice.” Arthur let Merlin adjust and then put his hands on Merlin’s hips to lift him up and slam him down again more forcefully, taking him harder, deeper, faster. Merlin leaned back with his hands on the floor, head tipped back, to give Arthur a better view, and Arthur groaned as he took in the graceful line of Merlin’s neck, his lean, pale torso, his hard, perfect cock bouncing on his soft belly, his straining thigh muscles.

“God you’re perfect,” Arthur whispered, pulling out and flipping Merlin over, drawing him up onto his hands and knees in the sea of wrapping paper, before thrusting back inside him hard and glorying in the sound of Merlin’s yell as he hit his prostate. He fucked him until Merlin’s back started glistening with sweat, until he’d dropped his head between his arms, gasping for breath, and then he pulled out and turned him over again, pressed flat on his back on the floor, arms pulled over his head, knees spread wide as Arthur pushed back in and resumed his relentless pace. Merlin was flushed, writhing beneath him, arching off the floor, body bowed and cat-like, legs now wrapped around Arthur’s back, feet pressed into his thighs, spurring him on, and he brought his hands down to his own chest to stroke his nipples, one hand moving down to stroke his cock, begging Arthur to go deeper, to kiss him, turning his neck to the side and pleading “bite me, god, Arthur, bite me,” and then swearing as Arthur sucked and nibbled love-bites into his neck and shoulder. Arthur peeled back, sitting back on his heels, pulling Merlin’s arse into his lap and putting his legs over his shoulders and then fucking into him again.

“Stop touching yourself sweetheart,” he commanded, and Merlin instantly dropped his hands to his sides and groaned on every penetration, whole body flushed. He started gasping, back arched off the floor, humping Arthur’s cock needily, and then abruptly he released a long, guttural moan and came, untouched, spurting ropes of semen onto his belly, chest, some splattering on his chin. Arthur watched the intense need on his lover’s face morph into a moment of pure bliss, the relief of release, the relaxation of pleasure, and then he came himself, pumping his release into Merlin’s body. He collapsed on top of him, and shifted them until they were pressed together, clinging to each other, sweaty and sticky and breathless. “I’m so in love with you,” Arthur spoke into the soft shell of Merlin’s ear, and Merlin squirmed against him.

“I love you more,” he promised, stroking Arthur’s calf with his foot. Arthur growled and pulled away from Merlin, drawing his feet into his lap. Merlin lay on his back watching fondly as Arthur lifted one to his mouth, sucking his arch, his toes. Arthur was a bit obsessed with his feet, and Merlin didn’t mind at all. Arthur knew if he wasn’t so shagged out he’d be hardening again in minutes from the attention. Merlin hummed whilst Arthur massaged his toes, the ball of his foot, lightly rubbing the other one up and down Arthur’s chest, his thigh. Eventually Arthur pressed a kiss to his ankle.

“We need to clean up this room,” he said decisively, “and then we need to have a shower, and then you can relax whilst I make supper.” Merlin scoffed.

“You’re so unromantic. Can’t we just lie here on the floor and look at the Christmas tree lights for a while? Enjoy our post-coital haze?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin’s waggling ones.

“You’ve spray-snowed _over_ our Christmas tree lights, love of my life.”

“So they’ll be all misty and magical!” Merlin declared, rolling around in the discarded wrapping paper and giggling as it crinkled beneath him. Literally four years old. “Oh there’s my phone!” he exclaimed delightedly, head landing on something hard. Arthur moved down on top of him to still him, kissing him gently.

“You have ribbon stuck to the come on your chest, sperm leaking onto your thighs, cellotape on your nose, and glitter and snow in your hair. I want clean soapy-smelling Merlin to cuddle up to in front of the TV - in a _tidy_ sitting room - before we have exactly _zero_ privacy and constant chaos for four days. Indulge me.” Merlin patted Arthur’s head soothingly.

“Fine, you big baby. Come and wash me, please.” Merlin held up his arms, like a child, and Arthur grinned and fireman-lifted him into the shower, proceeding to wash him very, very thoroughly.


	2. Chapter 2

Mordred and Freya _loved_ Merlin’s decorations. Five-year old Mordred particularly liked the singing Christmas robots, and three-year old Freya was quite spellbound by the colour-changing snow-globes. Between the ’We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ and ‘Rocking around the Christmas tree’ of the dancing mince-pie and tree, and the soulful ‘Silent Night’ of the light globe - not to mention the carols Merlin was playing as mood music - Arthur was getting a migraine already.

“It looks hideous,” Morgana declared cheerfully on arrival, looking around the flat, “like a cartoon character vomited Christmas into the real world.” Merlin glared at her, crossing his arms. “Obviously I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said indulgently, giving him a hug. Leon patted him on the back supportively.

“Ignore the witch, it’s very festive, thank you for all your hard work.” Merlin’s mum thought it was hilarious.

“I’m so glad he assaults your house now instead of mine,” she said to Arthur, snorting and wiping tears from her eyes. “One year it took me three whole days to peel off the snowflake stickers from every window in the house.” Arthur looked at Merlin in alarm.

“Shhh! For God’s sake, don’t give him any more ideas!” Hunith cackled, drawing Merlin’s attention away from Morgana.

“What’s so funny?” he asked eagerly, slipping his arms round Arthur.

“You are my darling,” Hunith replied, kissing her son’s cheek and gliding away with a hoot of laughter as a motion-censored bush of mistletoe asked her for a kiss. Merlin looked at Arthur in confusion.

“Mothers are odd,” Arthur shrugged, “which is probably where you get it from,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Merlin asked, leaning in and peeking up at Arthur.

“I said ‘we should probably be getting along’,” Arthur replied, clearing his throat.

They’d gone on their traditional family Christmas Eve walk, come home via the local church for carols by candlelight, and now Merlin was preparing food in the kitchen while Arthur poured everyone a glass of champagne in the sitting room. He’d given the evil gnomes a selection of Christmas DVDs - _Frozen_ and _The Snowman_ and _The Muppet’s Christmas Carol_ \- to entertain themselves until supper. Closing the sitting room door on the noise, he slowly walked back down the hall towards the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to watch his lovely boyfriend. Merlin was dressed in a loose red velvet shirt, skinny black jeans covered in sequins, silver glitter adorning his eyes, and jigging barefoot to ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’, merrily throwing chopped potatoes into a roasting tin and then smothering them in garlic oil and ground cumin and cinnamon and smoked paprika. He was suddenly hit by an overwhelming wave of love for this man, this fey creature who’d brought chaos and affection and glowing happiness into his life. He brushed away his sudden tears and left the kitchen, walking to their bedroom instead (which Merlin had cleaned by balancing every single one of his worldly possessions on an armchair, it seemed), and sitting on his bed to open his bedside drawer. He took out a small blue velvet box containing a rose gold Celtic knot wedding ring that had belonged to his mother. Turning it over in his hands thoughtfully, he smiled and pocketed it, walking back to the kitchen. Merlin had his head bowed over the casserole pot on the hob, peering at it as he stirred it carefully, humming softly under his breath. Arthur came up and wrapped his arms around him, kissing his neck. Merlin tilted his head to the side to give Arthur better access and smiled.

“Mmm,” he sighed, swaying against Arthur in time to the music, “did you bring some of the yummy bubbly gold stuff for me too?” Arthur hugged him tighter, face pressed tightly into Merlin’s shoulder. “Arthur?” Merlin asked, extricating himself from Arthur’s death-grip and turning around to take Arthur’s face in his hands, worry creasing his forehead at Arthur’s silence. “Are you okay baby?” he asked quietly, stroking Arthur’s cheek. Arthur leant down to kiss his forehead, very near to tears again at how profoundly special this human was to him.

“I just realised something,” Arthur murmured, softly kissing Merlin’s temples, his eyelids, his nose, hands sliding underneath his shirt to stroke his skin. Merlin looked at him quizzically. “Well,” Arthur corrected, “lots of things, really.”

“Okaay … ” Merlin said slowly, the question implicit in his voice.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur said kissing him, “and sexy,” kissing him again, “and magical”, another kiss, “and by far the most perfect, special, precious thing in my life,” Arthur breathed out, pausing to press another kiss to Merlin’s furrowed brow. “You are the loveliest and most gorgeous and best person that I know and I never want to lose you. I never want to let this go, Merlin.” Merlin looked really worried now, shaking Arthur’s shirt.

“Arthur, what’s wrong with you?” he said crossly. “You’re scaring me.” Arthur smiled and dropped to his knees, taking his mother’s ring out of his pocket and holding it in front of Merlin.

“Merlin Emerson,” Arthur said formally, grinning at Merlin’s astonished, gobsmacked face, “I want to know that every day for the rest of your life you’ll wake up next to someone who thanks the fucking universe every single minute of their lives for creating you, and for winning the lottery in having you, and who does everything in their power to make you feel cherished and loved and safe. I am -“ Arthur stressed the word softly - “ _devoted_ to you and I don’t think anyone else will do that as well as I vow to. So I’d like to ask if you’ll allow me the incredible honour and privilege of asking you to be my husband. Will you marry me?” Arthur looks at Merlin seriously, sincerely, and then breaks into a smile when Merlin brushes his own tears out of his eyes and drops to his knees, grabbing Arthur’s face and kissing the life out of him. Somehow they end up sprawled and making out on the kitchen floor, giggling like teenagers.

“Well this is wholly inappropriate,” Morgana comments, raising a cool eyebrow and crossing her arms as she watches her brother and his boyfriend basically dry humping on the floor. “I came to offer assistance with food preparation, but I see you’re otherwise engaged.” Merlin beams up at her.

“I am! Engaged, I mean! Arthur just proposed to me!” he says excitedly, flushed pink with happiness. Morgana raises both eyebrows this time.

“Well you didn’t _actually_ say yes,” Arthur points out, also smiling ridiculously, propped on one elbow and looking down at Merlin between his thighs on the floor. Merlin smacks him.

“Of course I said yes you clotpole, where’s my ring?” he makes grabby hands at Arthur who smilingly slides the ring on to his wedding finger. It’s a perfect fit. Merlin looks at his hand disbelievingly and reverently, eyes welling up again. “It’s _beautiful_ Arthur,” he breathes out, “This was your mum’s ring, wasn’t it? I love it. I love you. God I love you, I love you, I love you …” his words turn into tears and suddenly he’s kissing Arthur like the world is ending and Arthur can only hold on whilst Merlin consumes his mouth. When they come up for air, Morgana has gone and they’re both rock hard. Arthur starts to unbutton the top of Merlin’s trousers. “Arthur, no!” Merlin protests looking scandalised, slapping his hand away, eyes flicking nervously to the door.

“Shh, it’s fine, Morgana won’t let anyone come in here now, relax sweetheart.”

“Arthur!” Merlin squeals as Arthur takes his cock into his mouth, pressing his hips into the floor as he suckles hard, using his tongue to stroke whilst he’s bobbing up and down to take Merlin to the back of his throat. “Nnnggh, God, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, letting his head thud to the ground, hands in Arthur’s hair, starting to thrust up into Arthur’s mouth. “ _Arthur_ ,” he whispers, like a litany, “ _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arth -_ “ and then he bucks and is pouring himself down Arthur’s throat, gasping as his orgasm hits in wave after wave. Arthur milks him through it.

“I’m glad you’re celebrating,” Hunith says cheerfully, coming into the kitchen a little tipsy.

“Mum!” Merlin squawks, looking absolutely _scandalised_ ; Arthur bursts into laughter and hides his face in Merlin’s crotch, simultaneously affording Merlin some privacy.

“Congratulations both of you, I am _delighted_ , we must have more champagne!” she continues, coming around the workbench to get more olives out of the fridge, “But do take your time, rushed orgasms are never quite the same, are they? Although it sounded rather as if you already finished darling,” she adds, looking down at Arthur, who is positively _crying_ in Merlin’s lap, “better just sort out your fiancé.”

“Mother, leave this room immediately,” Merlin instructs, putting a hand over his eyes. He waits until he hears the door close to glare at Arthur, who is kissing his belly and making it very difficult to be angry. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” he huffs. Arthur grins up at him wickedly.

“Not yet,” he smirks. “Turn over.” Merlin shakes his head and scoots away from Arthur, buttoning up his trousers.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell are we fucking on a kitchen floor with two _minors_ in the room next door!” he hisses, clambering up and returning to the hob to check the casserole. Arthur comes up behind him and presses his crotch into Merlin’s arse.

“You can’t leave me like this _Mer_ lin,” he chastises, biting Merlin’s ear. Merlin swats him away.

“ - 'This’ - " Merlin says, waggling his hand in the direction of Arthur’s bulging erection, “is _entirely_ your own fault. If you had been clever enough to propose to me when we were _alone_ I could have spent _hours_ thanking you. As it is, your sister is scarred, my mother is scarred, _I_ am scarred, and my casserole is very close to burning. Go away.”

“Nobody is scarred,” Arthur murmurs amenably, kissing his shoulder, “they’re very sensible women. And your casserole smells delicious.” He turns Merlin to face him and pouts. “I won’t be able to enjoy the rest of the evening unless I make love to you first.” Merlin looks exasperated and totally besotted. He rolls his eyes dramatically.

“You are a _ridiculous_ man,” he says sternly, unbuttoning his trousers, and hopping out of them. He jumps up onto the workbench and lies back with his feet on the counter and knees open in invitation. Arthur unbuttons his own trousers quickly and pulls himself out, tenderly kissing the inside of Merlin’s knee, and then carefully removing the butt-plug he’d inserted this morning, for just such an occasion.

“I love you,” he whispers seriously, lining himself up with Merlin’s glistening entrance and thrusting in, in a hard, single stroke. He and Merlin watch each other silently, lovingly, as he moves in and out slowly, one of Merlin’s legs raised up on his shoulder, and he warmly strokes Merlin’s calves, his thighs, his belly, overwhelmed with love again. “ _Sweetheart,_ ” he murmurs, closing his eyes, gently stroking Merlin’s half-hard cock, encouraging him back to hardness, pressing himself deeply into the body he loves, turned on beyond belief at the sight of the gold band glinting on Merlin’s left hand, sweetly stroking Arthur’s wrist as he pumps Merlin back to full-mast. Arthur holds his breath and he comes silently, swiftly replacing the butt-plug to avoid any leakage. He then bends down to stroke and suck Merlin to a second completion. Merlin also comes silently, arched off the kitchen workbench, eyes blown wide. Arthur kisses his thigh and then tidies them both up, pulling up their jeans, tucking them back in, buttoning them up. Merlin sits up and pulls Arthur into a hug, snuffling into his chest.

“Better?” he mumbles, stroking Arthur’s back soothingly. Arthur squeezes him and kisses him on the mouth, loosely tangling their tongues.

“Barely,” Arthur whispers, fingers skating over Merlin’s belly, “I want to take you to bed properly. For a week.” Merlin smiles broadly, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Me too. Let’s get supper and family out of the way and have a really _really_ early night.” Arthur steps back and nods, eyes shining with happiness.

“If everything’s cooking away, shall we enter the dragon’s lair to celebrate with our families?” Merlin nods and takes Arthurs hand, leading the way.

Everyone cheers and claps and wolf-whistles when they enter the sitting room. Merlin blushes and shrugs, gazing at Arthur adoringly. 


	3. Chapter 3

Planning a wedding is a lot more stressful than Arthur thought it might be. In all honesty, Arthur hadn’t really thought about having a wedding at all. In his spontaneous decision to propose to Merlin he hadn’t actually considered there would be an _event_ to plan at the end of it. In his mind getting married is simply a legal way of binding yourself to the person you love: paperwork that can be efficiently completed in a registry office. He’s not wholly unromantic about the thing; he’d have worn a suit, maybe arranged an expensive dinner for their immediate families afterwards, booked a luxury honeymoon to a tropical island. But, as ever, he hadn’t really accounted for Merlin and his famous Enthusiasm.

On the 1st January, as soon as their Christmas and New Year festivities were over, and their flat returned to it’s non-Narnian state, Merlin had settled himself on the sofa beside Arthur (killing another newspaper in the process), put his socked feet in Arthur’s lap, pulled their tartan throw over himself, and asked brightly about what Arthur had in mind for their wedding. Arthur looked at him, bemused.

“What do you mean?” he’d asked. Merlin snuggled more comfortably into the cushions, waggling his feet demandingly at Arthur to be rubbed, and pulled out a pink notebook and novelty pen (full of sparkly gel and topped by Yoda), which surprised Arthur no end, because Merlin was the least organised person he’d ever met. “Since when do you use planners?” he asked incredulously. “Scrap that, since when do you plan _anything_ , full stop?”

“Since my mother sent me this lovely wedding journal filled with lots of very helpful checklists,” Merlin said happily, opening the book on the first page. “For instance, when do we want to get married? Where? What’s our budget? How many guests do we want to have? Do we want ceremony guests and evening guests, or everyone all at once? Do we want a theme? What are our colours? Shall we have an engagement party first? What kind of food do we want?” He paused and looked up at Arthur expectantly. “Once we’ve answered those questions we can move on to the next checklist.” Arthur scratched his neck. What the fuck? The benefit of marrying a man, surely, was that he didn’t have to deal with this expensive commercialised bullshit.

“Do you have ideas in mind already?” he tried, attempting to work out Merlin’s exact level of emotional investment in the idea of a proper white wedding. Merlin nodded, consulting his book again. He’d clearly filled in most of the answers already.

“I think we should have a Christmas wedding later this year; that’s when we met, and when you proposed, and it’s our favourite time of year.” _Your favourite time of year_ , Arthur’s brain supplied, because he much preferred the summer. “That already gives us a theme - Christmas - and our colours too; red and white, or red and gold, or red and green? We can have mulled wine and champagne cocktails and nut roast and mince pies and that glitterschlapper stuff to make everything sparkly -“

“Goldschläger,” Arthur corrected automatically, feeling dazed.

“Goldschläger,” Merlin nodded, “and because it’s Christmas we should probably book a castle, don’t you think? In Scotland, maybe? You really like Scotland.” _I’ve been to Scotland twice_ , Arthur thought, a little dumbfounded. “I think for guests it would be rude not to invite everyone, don’t you? So all our friends, our families, probably our work colleagues too - I absolutely have to invite everyone from Hokey Pokey Vegi Wokery, and I’m sure you’ll want people from Lehman&Schuster there?” _Absolutely not_ , Arthur thought, he spent too much time with his work colleagues already. Plus the mere _idea_ of his firm’s senior legal Partners meeting Merlin’s hippie earth-communing colleagues was horrifying. But Merlin’s face was shining and he was looking at Arthur eagerly. “So … what do you think?” he asked hopefully. _Highly emotionally invested, then,_ was the answer to Arthur’s original question. “You don’t like any of it, do you?” Merlin asked, his face falling. Arthur tried to work out what to say.

“I think they’re lovely ideas, but - ” Arthur paused to find the right words. “ - I suppose I’m a little surprised that you want to do everything so - big. So traditionally. I’d imagined we’d do it quietly with our families in a registry office somewhere, maybe Ealdor?” Arthur had spent many happy days in Merlin’s hometown in the Cumbrian countryside, lost in the mountains.

“Oh,” Merlin said quietly, looking at his book. “So you don’t want a wedding?”

“I didn’t think that you would,” Arthur replied, kissing Merlin’s foot placatingly. Merlin looked at him earnestly.

“I’m proud to be marrying you Arthur. I want to promise to be yours in front of everyone we know, I think it’s romantic.” Well, damn it, what could Arthur say to that? He shifted closer to Merlin and pulled him into his lap.

“If it’s important to you Merls, then of course I am all in,” he said with a smile, warming at Merlin’s delight. “But no dancing robots for our best men, please.” Merlin shook his head, grinning, and crossed his heart.

*  

That’s when all hell began. Merlin applies himself to wedding organisation with a level of focus only ever previously evidenced during his degree years. He does naturally have more free time than Arthur, between shifts at the the vegan music cafe, and time in his rented workshop, transforming rubbish bits of antique or retro furniture into (actually very sellable) collectible items for avant-garde homes. A castle is booked within a fortnight. Invitations are sent out within the month. He buys wedding magazines and goes round to Morgana’s house, or Gwen’s studio (one of his best friends), to work through them, cutting out the ideas he likes. Freya is going to be a flower-girl, Merlin informs him one evening, and Mordred a page-boy, and Will and Gwaine are going to be his best men (his two best friends from school and university). Arthur wonders who, exactly, is supposed to be walking up the aisle with the flower-girl and page-boy, because he’s certainly not going to, and he feels thoroughly put out about Gwaine, because he knows that he was Merlin’s first sexual partner and real boyfriend; they were together for several months in their first year. Arthur’s pretty sure Merlin snogged Will as a teenager too. As a result he’s never been particularly warm to either man (the thought that anyone other than himself has even _thought_ about touching Merlin makes him feeling strangely violent), and he would really rather neither of them was involved with the beginning of his marriage.

“Who are you going to ask?” Merlin had inquired, swinging his feet on a breakfast stool and munching on beetroot crisps dipped in dark chocolate.

“Clearly all of my most serious former lovers,” Arthur had retorted a little waspishly, wearily approaching the fridge to find some sort of supper after a long day at work. Merlin had stopped munching behind him.

“That’s a bit of a bastard thing to say,” he commented neutrally, waiting for Arthur to turn around. Arthur took out some leftover bean chilli and the ingredients for an avocado salad.

“Do we have any tortilla chips?” he asked, changing the subject. Merlin got off his stool and retrieved a half-used bag from the pantry, passing it across to Arthur silently. “Ta,” Arthur said, putting the chilli in the microwave and beginning to cut up his avocados.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so applied to preparing a salad ingredient before,” Merlin remarked, still standing by the pantry. Arthur shrugged, carefully removing the stones. “Arthur look at me,” Merlin requested impatiently, walking over to Arthur and putting his hands on his hips. “Why are you cross that I asked my best friends to be my best men? You’ve spent lots of time with both of them, it’s not like they’re strangers.” _No, definitely not_ Arthur thought _, they know you and your body very intimately, in fact_. But if Merlin couldn’t see why his choice might upset Arthur, it was pointless for Arthur to spell it out for him.

“It’s been a long day at work, sorry,” he said. Merlin kissed his cheek and poured the nachos in a bowl, adding salsa and cheese and popping them in the oven to help Arthur with his food. When he was settled at the breakfast bar with food and wine, Merlin raised the topic again, lightly kicking his calf.

“ _So_ ,” he prompted, “who are you going to ask?” Arthur chewed his food tiredly, wanting nothing more than to watch some mindless TV.

“Leon, I imagine,” he said. It only seemed fair, given that he’d been best man at Leon’s wedding. “Maybe Lance too?” Merlin nodded enthusiastically.

“They’re great choices! How about bridesmaids? I was thinking of asking Gwen - maybe you could ask Morgana to be a Maid of Honour?”

“Why exactly do we need bridesmaids?” Arthur asked shortly. “I’m not planning on walking up an aisle, are you?” Merlin bit his lip and looked down.

“I thought that maybe we could walk in together, with Hunith and Uther,” he said quietly. Arthur actually laughed.

“You think my estranged homophobic father is going to walk me down the aisle? He probably won’t even come to the wedding. He’s met you how many times in the last two years? Once? And only because Morgana tricked him into it.” Merlin’s eyes moistened slightly, but he put a comforting hand on Arthur’s knee all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “forget that idea.” He toyed with a beetroot chip for a minute, watching Arthur eat. “Well, you could stand at the top of the aisle, then, like a traditional groom, and I’ll walk down the aisle as your non-traditional bride!” Merlin smiled bleakly. Arthur hated that he’d upset him. He put his knife and fork down and pulled Merlin’s stool between his knees, resting his forehead against Merlin’s.

“I’m tired, I’m being a twat, ignore me. Whatever you want sounds perfect.” Merlin stroked Arthur’s face.

“At least you’re a very handsome twat,” he said brightly.

*

That night Arthur is sprawled on their bed, pillow over his face, trying to forget his day, when Merlin slides into bed beside him, crawling under the covers and parting his arse cheeks with delicate fingers, blowing on and then licking his hole, gently lapping it like a kitten, warm tongue soft as it nudges him open. Arthur groans in pleasure and pushes his arse against Merlin’s mouth, cock hardening.

“God, _Merls_ ,” he whispers, aching with need. Merlin shushes him.

“Just relax. You need to unwind.” He returns his tongue to Arthur’s hole and tongue-fucks him into a leaking, raging hardness; Arthur loses the pillow and moans as he watches Merlin’s dark head bobbing between his thighs. He puts his hands in his hair, caressing him absently.

“Your mouth feels amazing,” he says reverently, closing his eyes and opening his legs wider. Merlin withdraws and blows cool air on his hole again, before moving up to lick a slow stripe up his shaft, lightly mouthing at the head of his cock, and slipping a finger into Arthur to replace his tongue. Arthur can’t help but buck his hips, fuck himself into Merlin’s mouth, but Merlin keeps his pace slow and relaxed, sensual, intimate, totally worshipping Arthur’s cock and arse, kissing, nibbling, nosing, nuzzling every inch of skin between his thighs. Arthur feels like he’s riding the wave of bliss for hours before he bucks up with a shout, gripping Merlin’s head as he spurts hot seed into his mouth, down his throat. When his orgasm finally passes he collapses back against the bed. Merlin nuzzles his soft cock, keeping his head in Arthur’s crotch whilst he waits for Arthur to recover. When his breathing finally returns to normal, Merlin sits up on his heels, and places a hand on Arthur’s muscled stomach.

“Good?” Arthur stretches, catching Merlin between his legs and pulling him down against his chest.

“The best,” he says honestly, lightly kissing Merlin’s lips and tasting himself. Merlin’s cock is pressing hot against his thigh. “Get that arse up here,” he says, and Merlin grins, crawling over Arthur’s body until he’s sitting on Arthur’s face, holding his weight and bracketing Arthur’s head with his knees. Arthur holds him open and thrusts his tongue straight in, pushing past Merlin’s tight ring of muscle, and Merlin groans, leaning forwards to hold the headboard with one arm as he bounces up and down, other hand pumping himself quickly, roughly. He comes into his hand and then sits on Arthur’s chest whilst Arthur licks his hand clean. When he’s done he sits up, Merlin sliding into his lap, and he kisses him slowly, smiling at him with soft eyes. For a minute he forgets the wedding, and everything is perfect.

*

A few weeks after that the post-it note messages change. From love letters Merlin-style to actual To Do Lists stuck on the fridge on normal-human-being lined notepad paper.

 

_Greetings fiancé of mine!_

_I won’t be back from the cafe until 11ish (new band playing tonight), please could you spend some time on wedmin?_

_1) Have a look at the cake options in my wedding binder by the fridge (under ‘Food’) - I think the three tier red velvet (red and white for Christmas) with holly/ivy/berry garnishes and little snow grooms on top? 8-D  
_ _2) Also look at the decorations idea page (no robots, I promised - under ‘Venue’). I like the idea of mistletoe above the altar <3 <3 <3 and rose buttonholes? Can we have giant snow-globe lamps on the tables as centrepieces? Or would you prefer something more orthodox, like candles?  
_ _3) Look at the websites of Scott and Luke (details under the ‘Suppliers’ tab) and see which style of photography you prefer so I can book one of them.  
_ _4) Choose a song for walking down the aisle. I thought maybe ‘I Will Follow You Into The Dark’ (Death Cab For Cutie)?  
_ _5) Music for the Reception - any ideas? I could book one of the bands that plays at Hokey Wokey?  
_ _6) Choose a menu option (also under ‘Food’). I think option 4 is really Christmassy? Whisky Smoked Salmon Roulade, Medallions of Venison with Port and Fig, and a Flaming Baked Alaska? Not very vegan-friendly, but I think on this one occasion I’ll get off my vegan soapbox and have a normal menu, with vegan options for all my ‘earth-communing friends’ (I know you call them that, and don’t worry, I’ve already chosen the ‘boring’ food)._

_Other things to think about:_

_\- dress code  
_ _\- your outfit  
_ _\- wedding favours and presents for our wedding party  
_ _\- stag do?  
_ _\- honeymoon???_

_I know it seems like a lot but IT’S OKAY, I HAVE IT UNDER CONTROL, I AM NEARLY ON TO THE NEXT CHECKLIST, GO ME! :D_

_THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU and I CAN’T WAIT TO MARRY YOU <3 XoXoXo_

  
Arthur sighs, still in his suit, and pours himself a whisky, dragging Merlin’s wedding binder to the kitchen table with a notepad. He flicks through the options and scribbles down a reply.  
  


_Hi Merls,_

_Knackered, was in court for six hours today, will probably be in bed when you get home. Hope new band rocked the house down!_

_1) Red velvet fine  
_ _2) Let’s have candles  
_ _3) Scott  
_ _4) DCFC fine  
_ _5) Option 4 fine_

 

_\- dress code: really don’t mind  
_ _\- my outfit: a suit?  
_ _\- wedding favours/presents - alcohol?  
_ _\- stag do - isn’t that our best man’s job?  
_ _\- honeymoon - Hawaii?_

_  
Love you too xxx_

 

He sticks it on the fridge, orders a takeaway pizza, and then watches Top Gear with a beer for an hour before crawling into bed.

Merlin’s awake, sleep-ruffled and in his Snuggle this Muggle sweater and yin-yang yoga pants, but sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop when Arthur wakes the following morning. Arthur kisses his head as he walks to the kettle.

“There’s filter coffee in the machine,” Merlin says. “And I made pancakes - they’re under the cloth by the hob.” Arthur raises his arms to the heavens and walks back to Merlin, feet curled under him on the chair, hugging him round the neck tightly.

“You are a GOD, thank you Merls.” He puts three pancakes in the microwave and pours himself a coffee, and then adds sliced banana and blueberries and maple syrup to his breakfast before sitting down.

“Thanks for this,” Merlin says, waving Arthur’s paltry Wedmin reply at him. He’s being a bit off with Arthur, Arthur thinks. Arthur smiles and takes a mouthful of pancake.

“These are _divine_ ,” he says, taking a swig of his coffee.

“I was hoping you might give me some advice about the dress code, actually,” Merlin says lightly, “seeing as it’s your area of expertise. No-one I know ever wears anything more fancy than a shirt.”

“Make the dress code _Casual_ then,” Arthur replies, spearing a couple of blueberries on his fork.

“I’d prefer that people dressed up a _little_ bit,” Merlin murmurs, half-apologetically. “I don’t want top hats or anything, but I can’t just put ‘Suits?’ can I? That doesn’t apply to the women?”

“How about _Cocktail Attire_?” Arthur suggests, and Merlin nods thoughtfully and writes it down.

“Thank you,” he says, watching Arthur quietly. He leans forward after a moment. “What about our stag dos?” he asks tentatively. “Do you want to do something together or apart? And Hawaii sounds lovely - do you want me to book that too?” Arthur sighs inwardly, resigned to the fact that he and Merlin seem unable to have a conversation that doesn’t involve frivolous party-planning, and puts his cutlery down, focusing on his fiancé.

“I really, really don’t mind about our stag,” he says honestly. “I’m not that fussed about having one, so why don’t you do whatever you want to with Gwaine and Will? And I can book the honeymoon, if you like? Fancy holidays are _definitely_ my area of expertise.” He notices that Merlin seems to have diminished a little, sitting back in his seat and looking at his journal flatly. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he says softly, packing up his laptop and leaving the table. Arthur catches his hand.

“What are you doing today? I thought maybe we could go to that new exhibition at the Tate?” he asks, pleased it’s finally the weekend and they might be able to spend some actual time together.

“I’ll be in my workshop, I’m behind on orders; I’ve had a run on my suitcase writing desks and my stained glass coffee tables, and with the café being so busy at the moment and all the wedding stuff too … well anyway, I’ll be back this evening. Have a good day.”

*

It’s at the end of April that things really blow up. It’s a Saturday evening and Leon and Morgana have come round for a games night with the evil gnomes. They’re on the floor playing Pictionary, and Merlin’s half-focused, half looking at his laptop. Arthur loses his temper and closes the lid.

“Can’t you get your head out of that laptop for _one single_ evening?” he asks irritably. Merlin looks up at him dejectedly, looking stressed.

“I’m sorting out the RSVPs and dietary requirements - the venue needs to know in a week. And they want table plans too, I’m trying to work out which of my guests and which of your guests will get on?”

“When is the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t wedding-related Merlin? This is getting ridiculous. None of our guests are going to get along, are they? It’s a pointless exercise. Far better your friends and family and colleagues are put together and I’ll do the same for mine. I’m inviting considerably fewer people than you, anyway, there won’t be enough of my people to go around all of yours.” Merlin’s face flushed angrily.

“Perhaps if you helped me even the _tiniest bit_ , and I wasn’t doing _everything_ alone, then I’d have time to do and discuss things that weren’t wedding related!” Merlin shot back, visibly upset. “I spend my entire life now at work at the cafe, or at work in my workshop, or at work at our kitchen table, and with my existing responsibilities to Hokey Pokey and a business that seems to be finally taking off and a whole wedding for two-hundred guests to plan single-handedly, I barely have time to eat, let alone play stupid games!” His voice has risen to the realms of hysteria, and his hands are pretty volatile too.

“Two HUNDRED people!?” Arthur says appalled, raising his voice in return. “Perhaps if you weren’t dead set on having a total fucking circus for a wedding then you’d be less stressed! All I wanted was a registry office and relaxed dinner with the family and two weeks on honeymoon - a marriage, not a sodding _party_ \- now I’ve got a £40,000 bill and a night of polite conversation with strangers ahead of me - not to mention all the men you’ve fucked - in a room apparently stuffed with tacky snow-globes - and the man I actually asked to marry me has totally disappeared! We haven’t had a conversation, or gone out together, or had anything more exciting than a handjob in the shower for _months_! I’m completely alone here too!” Merlin’s face has paled and he blinks back tears, rising to his feet and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Arthur flops back on the floor. Four pairs of eyes are staring at him judgingly.

“Merlin cry,” Freya says helpfully, pointing at the door.

“Why are you so cross?” Mordred asks curiously.

“You’re a total bastard sometimes Pendragon,” Morgana says sharply, switching on the TV for Freya and Mordred. “How could you be so awful to _Merlin_? That man loves you with his whole heart and you’ve just demeaned him and embarrassed him in front of family.”

“Morg, darling,” Leon says calmly, putting up a hand. “Arthur’s upset too.” Arthur sits up and puts his head in his hands.

“I didn’t want a big wedding, the whole thing sounds awful. And I miss my boyfriend.”

“Your _fiancé_ is crying upstairs,” Morgana points out. “Are you willing to make the man you love this unhappy over what should be the happiest day of your life?”

“I don’t understand why he’s gone so bonkers over it,” Arthur says wearily. “This man wears pyjamas and turtle necks to restaurants. I thought if he planned a wedding it would at least be low-key and alternative. He’s gone all bridezilla and Disney about the whole thing. I don’t recognise him.” Morgana throws the egg-timer at him.

“You’re an idiot,” she hisses. “He’s so excited to be marrying you he wants to organise a day that he knows that _your family will enjoy too_. How would your law firm colleagues feel sitting in a barn surrounded by cows with tofu and quinoa burgers, and everyone dressed in gold spandex, which is _probably_ what a Merlin-style wedding would entail?” Arthur raised his eyebrows, conceding the point. “Everything he’s doing is to make you proud of him, to create a day you’ll enjoy, and you’ve just completely disregarded his months of hard work. Not to mention the fact you’re so wrapped up in feeling sorry for yourself that you’ve failed to notice that Merlin’s furniture business is becoming very in-demand. He needs to quit his job at the cafe and expand, but he doesn’t have time, because he’s got no-one supporting him.” Arthur suddenly feels a terrible, quaking, sickening guilt fill his stomach. Morgana looks at him critically, and her voice softens, marginally. “Whilst I’m telling you what a prat you are, you should also know that your comments about his ex-boyfriends and your lack of a sex-life were completely unforgivable. You slept with how many people before you met Merlin? Fifty? More? You were a total playboy until your mid-twenties. Somehow it’s one rule for you and one rule for him. You know you’re the only person he’s ever loved. He met you when he was twenty-three - he had five years of sexual experience compared to your - what? fourteen, at that point? And he’s not a sex toy; if you’re not having sex, you’re equally to blame.” Arthur nods, cringing inwardly.

“I’ll go and speak to him,” he says quietly and Morgana nods her approval.

“We’ll show ourselves out,” Leon says, standing up and shaking his hand. “Let me know if you want a pint soon, mate. Always here, you know that.” Arthur gives Leon a quick man-hug and kisses Frey and Morg goodbye on his way out of the room.

He opens their bedroom door to find Merlin curled on the floor by their bed with a half-packed suitcase by his feet, sobbing. Arthur’s heart breaks in two and he’s more remorseful than he’s ever been in his life. He absolutely hates himself. He crawls beside Merlin and wraps him in his arms, holding tight when Merlin tries to pull away, stroking his hair and letting him cry into his chest.

“I’m a bastard,” Arthur murmurs quietly, kissing Merlin’s ear. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve just said, and for completely deserting you for the last few months. I don’t deserve you and I miss you and I love you and I will be beyond comprehensible devastation if you finish packing that suitcase.” Merlin begins to cry more softly, clutching Arthur’s shirt with his hands.

“I’m sorry I’ve got everything about the wedding wrong,” he says, wiping his face with his hand. Arthur reaches to the bedside table for a tissue and wipes his face.

“You absolutely didn’t,” Arthur said. “ _I’ve_ got everything about our wedding wrong. I will be 100% invested from this point forwards. I will take over planning completely. I will hire a professional. Whatever you want me to do, I will do it.” Merlin smiles a little, sniffing and trying to calm his breathing down. “More importantly, we absolutely need to talk about your exciting business expansion and how I can help with that. Something else brilliant that you’ve achieved and which I have spectacularly failed to notice.”

“You got there eventually,” Merlin mumbled, still clutching Arthur.

“Morgana got me there, really,” Arthur admitted. Merlin huffed a laugh.

“That’s what sisters are for I think,” he said kindly.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Arthur says, going into leader mode. “Leon and Morgana are leaving. We are going to have a hot shower and get into bed, because we’re both emotional and tired. In the morning I am going to make you a vegan cooked breakfast, and we are going to go through your Wedmin lists, dividing up the tasks equally. We can do the table plans together. I will ask Leon to liaise with Gwaine about organising a joint stag night. And then I’ll look at your company accounts and legal paperwork and make a list of everything we need to do to help you get properly off the ground - new website, marketing, advertising, supplier list, customer testimonials, probably a new work space with a showroom, another couple of employees? Operations Manager at least. Whatever’s on your plate, I’m sharing it, do you hear me? Even if all our time together is spent working, it’ll be worth it just to be with you.” Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur, eyes closed.

“Please don’t leave me,” Arthur implores him desperately.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Merlin reassures him quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says again. “I hate that I’ve hurt you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I know you will,” Merlin says softly. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

By the beginning of June, a month later, and with six-months to go before the wedding, Arthur takes Merlin on holiday to Italy. They’ve worked hard (together) for the last month getting Merlin’s growing business under control, and finalising Wedmin, and spending time repairing the damage in their relationship, making at least an hour of mutual-relaxation time in their days, where they can talk, or watch TV, or read in bed, or play Scrabble, and they fall asleep cuddling again. But Arthur wants a fortnight with no stress, no work, no distractions, where they can just focus on having fun again. They’re staying in a Tuscan villa owned by his friend Mithian, and her husband Edwin.

“Oh my goddess,” Merlin says when they arrive, darting between the large veranda with open-air bar and barbecue and the pool and hot-tub terrace and the steps down to the sunflower and olive and citrus groves, and the immaculately rustic and cosy villa itself, luxurious with open fires and rugs and bright oil paintings. He drags Arthur down to the local town, where they buy fresh pasta and tomatoes and basil and olive oil and ciabatta and chianti and limoncello, and they stroll around the cobbled streets afterwards, whilst Merlin peers into the old churches and quaint alleyways. They decide to have an aperitif in the piazza before walking home, and Arthur watches as Merlin puts drops of water into their grappa, wriggling excitedly at the cloudy puffs each drop produces. He’s wearing round tortoise-shell sunglasses and a vintage peacock-printed silk shirt and ripped, pink, slim-fit ankle length jeans, and oriental-floral patterned espadrilles, and he looks devastatingly gorgeous. Arthur feels aroused for the first time in months.

When they get home, Merlin curls up on one of the sofas on the veranda whilst Arthur makes a simple pasta and salad, along with an antipasti board with marinated artichokes, olives, sundried tomatoes, truffle mushroom caviar, and ciabatta, dishes of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. He sets the table with wine and candles and flowers. They talk easily about nonsense and all the tourist sites they both want to visit whilst they’re here. After they’ve eaten Arthur strips naked and then undresses Merlin, pulling him into the hot-tub. They lie, side by side, looking up at the stars, trying to work out the names of the constellations.

“Well that’s Orion’s Belt, obviously,” Arthur said confidently, drawing a line between three bright stars. “And I think that -“ he said, drawing another shape in the sky, “ - is the Northern Cross. Or possibly a sword. Excalibur?” Merlin hmmed.

“Your constellations are boring,” he said, lifting his own hand upwards. “This, is the well known Magician’s Hat,” he said, drawing a random shape totally unrelated to the actual stars, “and that over there is the Escaped Rabbit. And _that_ is The Woman That’s Been Accidentally Chopped In Half.”

“You made all of those up,” Arthur said dryly.

“Well somebody else made up your names too, didn’t they?” Merlin retorted. “I just have more imagination than you!”

“Well, that part’s certainly true,” Arthur acquiesced, ironically.

*

In bed later, Arthur pulls Merlin to his chest, cuddling him close.

“Are we going to talk about it, love?” he asks softly.

“About what?” Merlin replies, pulling back to look at Arthur.

“About the fact we still aren’t sleeping together. Was the last time in March? It’s been at least ten weeks. And for someone who has always been a resolutely naked sleeper, you are wearing an awful lot of clothes.” He pulls at Merlin’s Scooby-Doo t-shirt and tartan flannels. He, for his part, is naked. Merlin shrugs, closing his eyes and turning his face into the pillow. “Please talk to me, sweetheart,” Arthur requests quietly.

“I don’t know,” Merlin admits eventually. “First we - weren’t okay. And then, well, we were really busy with everything, and things have still been a bit weird, haven’t they? Like when you have a big argument and then pretend to be best friends a minute later. Now - I don’t know. You haven’t tried. I guess it still feels weird between us, doesn’t it?”

“I think that’s because we’re not having sex,” Arthur says, stroking Merlin’s hair. “In the two and a half years we’ve now been together, we’ve never been more than two nights without sleeping together, have we? Suddenly it’s two months. I think it’s like riding a horse, no pun intended. You fall off, you need to get straight back on or it becomes a thing. I feel like this has become A Thing. And I didn’t want to try until I knew you wanted me again, that you’d forgiven me.” Merlin lies quietly for a few minutes and then nods into the darkness, stroking Arthur’s chest. He sits up and peels off his t-shirt and bottoms and then presses his naked body against Arthur’s, running a hand over Arthur’s chest. Arthur lets his hands roam freely, down Merlin’s spine, his arse, between his thighs, over his cock, across his nipples, kissing his neck all the while, moving up to his mouth to claim his tongue as he held him close with one arm, one arm reaching down to stroke his cock. As soon as Merlin starts to harden Arthur reaches for the lube and slicks up his fingers, opening Merlin up, rubbing his prostate, whilst going down on him. Arthur knows from the sounds Merlin’s making that he’s enjoying it, but after ten minutes he realises Merlin’s not going to come like this, he’s not relaxed enough, and Arthur’s getting lockjaw, so he pulls off and slicks himself up, rolling Merlin onto his belly. “I love you,” he whispers as he pushes into him slowly, and he hears Merlin’s gasp, see’s him gripping the sheets. It’s been a long time, Merlin’s probably tight, this must be painful. “I’ll go slow, okay?” he asks, and Merlin nods into the sheets. Arthur decides he’d rather see Merlin’s face, gauge his reactions, and so he pulls out and turns Merlin over, lines up and presses back in, this time watching the gritted teeth and the wince of discomfort. He wraps Merlin’s legs around his waist and leans down across his body so that his arms are bracketing Merlin’s head and he can kiss him languidly, gently rocking inside him, making love. He reaches one hand down to stroke Merlin again, and eventually Merlin starts to relax, the tension seems to disappear from his body and he begins to respond, arching against Arthur, one hand in his hair, one kneading his arse, and Arthur keeps the rhythm slow until Merlin has painted his belly, and then Arthur follows soon after, releasing himself inside his lover and groaning at the relief of being close to him physically again. They don’t speak, don’t analyse, don’t discuss, they just fall asleep holding each other tightly.

In the morning, Arthur wakes to Merlin giving him a blowjob. He shifts his position so they’re lying in a loose 69 shape, lazily pleasuring each other. Afterwards they shower together and Arthur insists on a no-clothes inside the house policy, so they dry each other and head to breakfast together. Whilst they’re cooking Merlin gazes at Arthur’s broad back, his muscled arse and thighs, his strong arms, his defined chest, and Arthur stares at Merlin’s slender torso, slim thighs, soft belly, and by the end of breakfast they’re both hard from looking alone. Then they start touching each other, and they can’t seem to stop for the next fortnight. Arthur makes up for lost time and fucks Merlin 10 times a day, on the kitchen table, counter, floor, bed, shower, sofa, sun-lounger, swimming pool, picnic rug in the sunflower fields, the back of a church, in the doorway of a dark alley. When they’re not fucking they’re holding hands, stroking each other’s backs, touching each other’s knees, lying in each other’s laps, massaging each other, kissing each other, snuggling, cuddling, hugging, squeezing, stroking, licking, biting. It’s more intense than even the first month of their relationship.

“We should fall out more often,” Arthur says gruffly as Merlin collapses onto his chest, having ridden him hard for the third time in as many hours. “my recovery time is down to single-digit minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more horny or exhausted in all my life.” Merlin makes a noise of agreement, rolling to his side onto the towel by the pool, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and body, letting himself drift towards sleep, when suddenly Arthur is rubbing his thigh again. “Roll over,” he whispers, and Merlin only half-consciously responds, lying on his belly with his head in his arms, whilst Arthur thrusts into him again, fucking him hard into the terracotta tiles beneath him (he can feel his hipbones hitting the hard surface) and Merlin feels his whole body being possessed and taken and reclaimed by Arthur and he rides the wave of bliss, coming untouched with a pained moan as Arthur fills him with yet more semen. His hole is loose and sore, his thighs are sticky and crusted with damp and dried come, he’s covered in bruises from being banged into surfaces or held by demanding fingers, he’s got purple bite marks from his neck to his ankles, and scratch marks from nails and teeth across his chest and back. He is thoroughly, excruciatingly, impossibly shagged out and deliriously happy again, high on love and need for his fiancé, and he needs to sleep until the wedding, at least, if he is going to be adequately recharged for their honeymoon, which frankly has absolutely zero chance of beating this holiday.

“No more,” Merlin mumbles into the towel semi-incoherently, trying to shake his head, “I think you broke my body.”

“I think you broke my cock,” Arthur retorts, panting.

“Body is worse than a cock,” Merlin argues. Arthur reaches blindly for his thigh and pats him.

“Fair enough.” He groans and stands up, pulling Merlin up too.

“Why are you torturing me?” Merlin grumbles. “Sadist.”

“We’ll get sunburn if we sleep here,” Arthur says, padding across the hot terrace to the shade of the veranda, and pulling Merlin against him on the sofa, falling instantly asleep.

*

“Well this is wholly inappropriate,” Mithian comments, smirking at Merlin from the patio doors, pointedly eying the lube bottles on the barbecue and coffee table and by the pool. Merlin groans and turns his body inwards, hiding his head in Arthur’s chest and his cock between Arthur’s legs.

“You can deal with it this time,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. Arthur waves at Mithian.

“Didn’t think you were arriving until tomorrow,” he said cheerily, stroking Merlin’s back. “I’m afraid we’re a bit shagged out” - “ _understatement”_ Arthur hears Merlin huff crossly into his chest - “if you give us a minute we’ll clear up and make ourselves decent” - _“_ you are positively _indecent”_ Merlin mutters - “and maybe don’t prepare food on any of the available surfaces until you’ve given us an hour or so to, well -“ Arthur grins sheepishly, “disinfect the area.”

“Ugh,” Mithian complains, “I don’t remember you being _half_ this rampant when I dated you.” - “Oh _someone’s_ allowed to be friends with his exes” Merlin grouses sarcastically - “I’ll take Edwin and Poppy into town for the afternoon - god - you didn’t shag in Poppy’s room did you?”

“The one with the garden mural on the wall?” Arthur says pensively.

“That’s the one,” Mithian replies. Arthur drops his head back down to the sofa.

“We’ll change the sheets,” he promises. He hears a muttered oath and then Mithian hurrying her four-year old daughter out of the sex villa.

“Bye Mithian,” Merlin mumbles into his chest. Arthur chuckles and squeezes him, kissing his forehead lightly.


	5. Chapter 5

In September they are taken out for their stag do; Will, Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, Lance, Percy, Merlin and Arthur. It starts with a rugby match, then drinks at their favourite pub, then dinner at their favourite Indian curry house, then to one of London’s finest mixology bars, and then to a burlesque, erotic dance club, which is one-step away from strippers, as far as Arthur is concerned. All the dancers are female though, so there is zero chance of awkward arousal, and Merlin happily (tipsily) gets up and dances with a feather boa, using it to swing himself around a pole ridiculously, his calf holding him in place as he slides up and down, wiggling his bum at the crowd for all the cat-callers. 

“He’s a natural entertainer, isn’t he?” Arthur says to Leon, captivated by his inadvertently sexy lover. Leon looks at him, eyebrow raised.

“Mate, I’m fairy certain this show is _entirely_ for your benefit.” Arthur glances at Gwaine, who’s also watching Merlin, wolf-whistling and applauding loudly. “Get over it,” Leon advises, noting his line of sight. Arthur looks at him, surprised. “Seriously, get over it. Merlin only has eyes for you, Gwaine’s like his brother, whatever they shared in the past. Gwaine has eyes for _everyone_ , you included. He’s not remotely interested in Merlin romantically. Don’t create a problem in your relationship that doesn’t need to be there.” Arthur takes a swig of vodka and smiles.

“When did you get so wise?” he asked lightly.

“Probably when I married your terrifyingly clever sister,” Leon replied, with a grin. Suddenly Arthur looks up, and Merlin has gone, and he panics.

“Where is he?” he calls to Gwaine. Gwaine saunters over, plopping himself down by Arthur.

“We’ve arranged for you both to have a _private dance_ ,” he says with a smirk. “Merlin’s in his room already. Your dance starts in five minutes.” Arthur’s really not comfortable about the idea of having a private lap dance.

“That’s really great of you guys, but I’m very happy not to, if it’s all the same.”

“Oh I think this is a dance you won’t want to miss,” Gwaine states confidently. “I rather wish I could take your place myself, brother. But hey ho, so the wheel turns. Where’s that ginger twink I saw a minute ago?” Arthur looks to Leon and Percy for help, but they are strangely adamant that he must trust them and go with the plan. Which is how he finds himself in a small room with a pole in the middle, lit blue, sitting on a black velvet chair and feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. Some kind of sultry French music comes on and he sees a slender stockinged leg appear from behind a curtain and he fights the urge to close his eyes, feeling that would be rude. He flushes and looks forwards stoically, clenching his fists, as more leg appears, and part of a suspender. The music shifts and a body appears and … Arthur can’t believe his eyes.

“ _Merlin!_ ” he exclaims astonished, as Merlin sashays into the room in black stockings and a garter and suspender belt, and nothing else but a pair of silk and lace French knickers. Merlin gyrates mesmerisingly, sensuously, seductively in time with the music, pausing now and then to look at Arthur with a coy smile from beneath his lashes, and then he continues his sexy, snake-like dance until he’s sliding onto Arthur’s lap, winding his body rhythmically against Arthur’s. Arthur’s mouth is dry and he’s hard and leaking. “Where did this sex kitten come from?” he asked Merlin, reaching out to touch his chest. Merlin leaned back. “No touching,” he whispered, letting his cock lightly grind against Arthur’s. Arthur dropped his head back on the velvet seat and groaned.

“I think this is the single hottest and cruelest thing that has ever happened to me,” he complained, reaching out for Merlin again.

“My fiancé doesn’t like other men touching me,” Merlin explains, turning round, and leaning forwards to hold the pole, undulating so that his arse is moving right in front of Arthur’s face. Arthur thinks he might come in his pants.

“Can you make an exception?” Arthur asks breathlessly, leaning forwards and licking Merlin’s thigh, biting the lacy material barely covering his globe-like cheeks. Merlin doesn’t immediately respond, so Arthur takes that as permission, sliding a hand up Merlin’s thigh and under his knickers, rubbing his thumb across his lubed-up hole. Arthur smiles; Merlin expected play. As guessed, Merlin whines, sitting back on Arthur’s lap and letting Arthur play with his rim, slide a hand down his stockinged legs. “I like these,” Arthur says, kissing his neck. “I’d like you to take them off for me. This is my last night out with the boys; I’m getting married. Tonight’s my last wild night.” Merlin stands and starts his hypnotic dance again.

“I have terms, for a strip tease,” he says consideringly, dropping to the floor and bouncing back up again. _How_ has Arthur never discovered that Merlin can dance like this!?

“Name them,” he says calmly, feeling his cock weeping heavily. Merlin straddles his lap.

“I take your cock out, put it inside me, and fuck you until I come. No kissing, no touching, just your cock.” Arthur drops his head forward to Merlin’s shoulder and nods, a desperate man. “You’ll have to be quiet. This is against the rules.” Arthur’s not sure if Merlin’s in character or warning him that they’re about to get kicked out of a club for indecency, but at this moment he doesn’t much care. Merlin stands with his foot on the pole dais, and slowly unclips the first stocking, offering his leg to Arthur, who peels it off with his teeth. Next comes the second stocking, which he slowly shimmies down, before placing his bare foot on Arthur’s crotch and rubbing, knowing that Arthur is crazy for his naked feet. The suspender belt and garters are dropped next, and gracefully stepped out of, and then the scrap of silky material covering his groin is slowly removed, causing Arthur to moan hungrily at Merlin’s new nakedness and exposed cock. “Stand up and take yourself out for me,” Merlin commands, and Arthur obliges, trousers pooling around his knees. Merlin bends over the velvet seat, offering his arse to Arthur. “No touching, no kissing, just fuck me until you come.” Arthur thrusts in immediately and fucks Merlin without abandon, totally animalistic. He keens and comes within minutes, drawing back and allowing Merlin to stand up and sit him back down. “Open your mouth,” Merlin instructs, and then his cock is in Arthur’s mouth and Arthur is sucking and Merlin is coming and it’s all over. “Time’s up I’m afraid,” Merlin says, pulling his meagre outfit back on. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You’ve ruined my life,” Arthur says mildly, smiling as he sees Merlin grin, and disappear behind the velvet curtain. He allows himself a few minutes to compose himself, then leaves the booth and rejoins his table.

“Good dance?” Percy enquires, giving him a shit-eating grin.

“Best dance ever,” Arthur replies, sitting down and awaiting Merlin’s return.

*

Once they’re home and showered and in bed, Merlin nuzzled into Arthur’s chest as usual, Arthur has questions.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” he asks, a little accusingly … why has Merlin kept that talent a secret for three years!?

“I didn’t,” Merlin replied sleepily, “I just wanted to give you a lap dance on your stag night so I went with the flow. Will and Leon arranged the room for me.”

“You’re some kind of miracle, you know that?” Arthur whispered to him, kissing his cheek. Merlin laughed, bashful. “Where did the outfit come from? And when did you lube up?”

“Agent Provocateur, and in the changing room before I put my costume on. The private rooms all have a small changing area behind them, so I had privacy. I had to wipe your semen off my thighs before I could get dressed again, so thank God I didn’t have to walk through a staff area with come trickling down my legs!”

“You do realise I am going to demand many more stockinged-dances from you, I hope?” Merlin snorted.

“Do me a Magic Mike dance and you can have as many sexy dances as you like baby.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

December is fast approaching, and Merlin and Arthur decide to spend a rainy November Saturday getting their Christmas shopping out of the way so they can focus on the final wedding arrangements over the next three weeks. They part in the entrance of their local shopping centre. Arthur kisses Merlin’s cheek.

“So - you’re doing Hunith and Gaius and the gnomes, and I’m doing Dad and Morgana and Leon.”

“And me,” Merlin adds, pointing at himself to make that absolutely clear. The fur pom-pom on the top of his beanie wobbles as if nodding in agreement. Arthur laughs and pulls Merlin closer to him, kissing him properly on the lips.

“As if I could forget you,” he murmurs, stroking Merlin’s jaw.

“Disgusting,” he hears an old man mutter, elbowing past them on his way out of the building. Merlin’s eyes widen and he frowns crossly.

“Happy Christmas to you too, bigoted wanker!” he yells after him, drawing the attention of _everyone_ in the vicinity. A group of teenage girls give him a _whoop whoop_ and a fist pump. Arthur smiles around apologetically, repeatedly kissing Merlin on the nose until he is mollified.

“If I let you go, do you promise to go straight to The Disney Store to buy crap for the evil gnomes, and not after that man to kick him?” Merlin fiddles with Arthur’s shirt and rolls his eyes.

“I promise I will go straight to The Disney Store to buy crap for the evil gnomes,” he singsongs pointedly. Arthur squeezes his arm.

“Meet you in Nutmegs in a couple of hours, then?” Merlin nods, kisses Arthur’s chin, and then strides off into the mall with his red-tartan lumberjack shirt and yellow puffer jacket and chunky knit Fair Isle beanie and skinny ankle jeans and red high-top Converses, looking like an indie-kid Where’s Wally. Arthur watches him until he can’t see him any more and then smiles and heads to Links of London to find something for Morgana.

Exactly two hours later Arthur enters the Nutmeg to find Merlin sitting in a corner with his knees tucked beneath him on an armchair, deeply immersed in an old book and slurping a soya hot chocolate covered in marshmallows. He’s surrounded by shopping bags.

“What on _earth_ is all this?” Arthur says, standing above him and nudging the nearest bag with his foot. “ _Four_ presents, we agreed?” Merlin grins and shrugs.

“It’s called Christmas Spirit Arthur,” he explains cheerily, holding out his arms for Arthur to pull him up. “We have Princess costumes and Stormtrooper costumes and lightsabers and a Frogs Frenzy game and wrapping paper and bows and cards and some _beautiful_ books from Curiosity Corner for Gwen and Gaius - I can’t _wait_ to show you - and smelly things for Mum and this hilarious Cheshire Cat onesie from that weird fancy dress shop - ”

“You bought your mother a novelty onesie?” Arthur interrupts.

“Yes!” Merlin enthuses unperturbed, “she’ll think it’s brilliant! And then there’s that Book of Tea thing for Alice with a fancy mixology loose-leaf blend and -“ he peers into his bags, “oh, yes, handpainted playing cards for Will, you know he collects decks, and loads of funny stuff from Ann Summers for Gwaine, like edible body glitter and nipple tassles, he has a _thing_ for food and sex, and nipples generally,” Arthur rolls his eyes, _well that is fantastic, just the mental picture I want of my fiancé and his best man_ he thinks sarkily, “and your present of course,” he says with a smirk, “and _treats_!” he exclaims, smacking his lips, pressing himself against Arthur, “ - I got those chocolate gingers you like, and peppermint creams, and turkish delight, and nougat and those praline shells and candied jellies and _chocolate baileys_ and some pearlescent sparkle pomegranate powder to jazz up champagne and -“ Arthur holds up his hands, defeated.

“Right,” he says tiredly, shaking off his coat, “You went big again. Why am I not surprised? You are excessive in all things, my love. I’ll look into remortgaging in the new year.” Merlin rolls his eyes.

“You are _such_ a drama queen,” he chides fondly, “you know you’ll be all ‘high five Merlin’ on Christmas day when your brandy snaps are waiting for you.” Arthur snorts.

“I imagine you’re right,” he concedes, looking around for a chair. Merlin pushes him into the armchair and sits on his lap, hooking his legs over one of the arms, wriggling to get comfortable.

“There aren’t any other free seats,” Merlin explains, handing Arthur a black Americano, and it’s true that Nutmegs is absolutely ram-packed with Christmas shoppers. Arthur has a restorative gulp of caffeine and puts the mug to one side, locking an arm around Merlin’s waist and stroking his calf with his other hand. “How did you do?” Merlin asked, holding his hot chocolate in both hands and positively shivering with delight.

“Overpriced jewellery for Morgana, vintage scotch and some silk handkerchiefs for dad, and climbing gear for Leon, Morgana said it’s his new hobby. I also ordered a Fortnum’s Christmas Hamper to be delivered to your mum to thank her for hosting us this year, and I picked up a Champney’s Spa voucher for her too, which will hopefully make up for her son’s appalling taste in gifts.” Merlin grins widely and bumps him joshingly.

“I’m better at presents than you are, admit it.” Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“I will do no such thing. You are better at _children’s_ presents, given that you are basically an oversized _child_ yourself, that’s why you get the gnomes.” Merlin waggles his head.

“Potato, tomato. Did you remember me?” Arthur smiles warmly at his wonderful, demanding lover and kisses him behind his ear.

“ _Of course_ ,” he murmurs, sharing a private smile with him. Merlin flushes, looking down at his hands, pleased. Arthur squeezes him, reaching over for his coffee. “Shall we get a takeaway tonight and wrap a million presents?” Merlin looks up at him curiously.

“You _never_ wrap presents!” he says in surprise. “I always do them. And write the cards.” Arthur nods contritely.

“I’ve always taken your festive enthusiasm for granted. I want to help you this year.” Merlin positively beams at him, snuggling against his chest whilst he finishes his coffee.

 

Apparently this year they’re making their own wrapping paper. Brown craft paper decorated with rubber ink-stamp trees (green), deer (black), snowflakes (white), finished off with a candy-cane striped ribbon. As it turns out, Merlin sits in the middle of the floor in his elf-hat and booties happily decorating the paper (and the oak floorboards, which obviously look much better adorned by actual trees), and Arthur wraps all the presents. They look very striking, if he does say so himself.

“You’re quite the artist,” Arthur praises Merlin, who is trying to tissue the inky mess off his hands. Merlin hums absently, frowning with concentration as he tries unsuccessfully to clean himself. Arthur watches him for a moment, endearingly frustrated and huffing at his hands, before steering him towards the sink and filling a bowl with warm soapy water. He puts Merlin’s hands in the bowl and then gently sponges them clean. Merlin watches him with soft eyes.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Soon enough it’s December, a week before their wedding. Arthur gets home from work to find Merlin bent over the table in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, every surface covered by gingerbread men. He’s using different coloured icing pens to draw names on each one of them, icing smudged on his face and smeared in sugary trails up his arms. They’re the edible table place cards for the wedding.

“They look great,” Arthur says, examining at at the nearest batch, lined up like soldiers. Merlin has given them little bow ties too. He steps back, leaning against Arthur.

“Only forty-two to go,” he says tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his clean hand.

“Shall I start bagging?” Arthur offers. They sit together listening to 80s pop whilst Merlin ices and Arthur drops them all into little cellophane bags and ties them with green and red ribbon.

“You need to joosh the ribbons,” Merlin says distractedly, waving at the bags.

“Joosh?” Arthur asks dubiously.

“You know,” Merlin says looking up, “with the scissors.” Arthur stares at him blankly.

“I need to joosh with the scissors.” He looks at the bags, waiting for inspiration to strike. Nothing. “Merls. What?” Merlin snorts and takes the pair of scissors on the table and runs one of the blades up the underside of a piece of ribbon in order to curl it. “Comprendez?” he asks, handing the scissors back to Arthur. Arthur looks at them dubiously.

“In the interest of managing expectations, they will probably look very, very ugly.” Merlin pats him on the back and resumes his icing, leaving Arthur to painstakingly ‘joosh’ for the next hour.

Wedmin over for the evening, Arthur goes for a run to shake out the cobwebs. It’s wet and cold, but he feels rejuvenated for making his lungs work, stretching his legs. He kicks off his trainers in the hall, peering into the sitting room to find Merlin in one of his old rugby sweaters and fleece pyjama bottoms with a thick scarf wound around his neck, balancing a ramen bowl on his tummy and trying to spoon food into his mouth as he flicks through the TV channels.

“D’y’have fun?” Merlin asks through a mouth of noodles, looking up. Arthur nods.

“I’ll just jump in the shower and be right with you.”

“There’s peanut tofu stir-fry, when you’re ready.” Arthur pads into the room to kiss Merlin’s head.

“Ugh!” he says, wrinkling his nose and pushing Arthur away. “You stink.”

“Sorry,” Arthur grins, backing away, “I’ll smell like petals in five minutes.” He hears Merlin humph as he leaves the room.

Once he’s showered and comfortable in his own soft lounge pants and t-shirt, he heads into the kitchen to get himself some stir-fry and then pads to the sitting room. Merlin eyes him appreciatively as he walks in. Arthur gives him a shit-eating grin.

“What?” Merlin says defensively. “You’re all muscly and damp and tousled. It’s very distracting.” Arthur smirks and plonks himself on the sofa beside Merlin, stretching out his legs. There’s a close up shot of a cock on the screen.

“Please don’t tell me you’re shopping around _four days_ before marrying me,” Arthur says drily. Merlin laughs.

“It’s _Naked Attraction_ ,” he says. “People choose dates based on how much they like their naked bodies.” Arthur looks at him incredulously.

“That’s appalling! No wonder people in this country have such terrible problems with - and attitudes towards - body image; we’re constantly perpetrating those negative ways of thinking in our national pop culture! It’s completely unacceptable _dross_.”

“You tell the living room Arthur,” Merlin responds impassively, spearing a piece of tofu with his chopstick. “I’d totally get rid of green though. His penis is tiny and he has _way_ too much hair everywhere. _Gross_.” Arthur looks gobsmacked.

“Are you being serious?” he asks disbelievingly. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on grumpy pants, it’s just fun, these people applied to be objectified and judged, that’s _literally_ the premise of the programme. Look at those six bodies and tell me there’s not one you prefer from the others. Or one that you find absolutely repulsive and straight-making. Like orange - you don’t like body piercings, and he’s got his nipples _and_ his cock pierced.” Arthur huffs and sits back on the sofa, mutinously chewing his stir-fry. The contestant gets rid of a man with snakes tattooed around his crotch.

“Which body do you like then?” he asks. Merlin puts his empty bowl on the coffee table and tilts his head to the side consideringly.

“Orange. Good strong thighs, nice straight penis, interesting piercings; lots of things to fiddle with. He’d be fun.” Arthur crunches his broccoli.

“He looks nothing like me. Blue looks most like me.” Merlin contorts his face into his trademark _huh!?_ expression.

“You didn’t ask which one looked most like you,” he says, nonplussed, “you asked which one I liked.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Arthur says, pointing a chopstick at Merlin, “when given the opportunity to date a body like mine or a different kind of body, you chose a different kind of body. Which means you think mine is lacking in some way.” Merlin drops his head to the back of the sofa and groans.

“I didn’t realise this was a serious conversation. You know I love your body. When I first saw you I thought you were too handsome to be real - you looked like Prince Charming had walked straight out of a Disney movie. Or a God from one of those Greek legend blockbusters. Then I saw your _naked_ body and reconsidered; you were clearly far better suited to porn. Or, you know, professional sports, or underwear modelling or something. You’re hot. I’m hard for you. Quit being neurotic.”

“But I’m mainstream,” Arthur protests stubbornly, “I look like a stereotypically heterosexual male. And you’re all Indie and alternative and clearly more naturally drawn to bodies of that persuasion. Like Gwaine. He’s got a nipple pierced, hasn’t he? And several tattoos. And he wears jewellery. _And_ has long hair.” Merlin puts a cushion over his head and switches off the TV.

“You need to get over Gwaine!” he shouts in exasperation, turning to his side to talk to Arthur. “Your obsession with him is getting worrying. _I_ am going to start getting jealous soon.” Arthur holds up his chopsticks in surrender. “ _And_ you’re taking a flippant remark I made to participate in the spirit of a piss-poor reality TV show _far_ too seriously,” Merlin continues loudly. “Stop being a prat!”

“I’m not being _entirely_ serious myself,” Arthur says in mild defence, putting his bowl down. “And Gwaine - I’m jealous, I can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be jealous _of_ ,” Merlin argues for the millionth time. Arthur shrugs.

“Jealously isn’t logical, love. He’s been inside you. I’ll never forgive him.”

“Arthur, I didn’t even know you _existed_ when I was with Gwaine.”

“I know. I just don’t like the constant reminder that before me you had all this wild, kinky, animalistic Hot Sex with Mr Rampant Rabbit. I must be incredibly boring in comparison.” Arthur looks at his hands, having finally voiced his deepest insecurity. “I can’t stand the idea that it was probably better with him than it is with me. I’m competitive. It’s my inner Alpha.” Merlin clambers into Arthur’s lap.

“You daft idiot,” he chides softly, nuzzling Arthur’s neck. He takes Arthur’s face in his hands, looking at him seriously. “You are by far the best sex I’ve ever had. Yes I enjoyed sex with Gwaine when I was eighteen. He’s great in bed. But I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me - not like that, anyway - it was just best friends having fun with each other for a while. With you it’s much more than just physical pleasure; we love each other. We connect emotionally and mentally as well as physically, and you’re the only person I’ve ever had that with. When we’re together - ” Merlin presses his head against Arthur’s, “ - what we share together …” he looks at Arthur imploringly, willing him to understand. “It overwhelms me. You overwhelm me. There’s no contest. Not outside your imagination.” Arthur feels choked up with emotion. He wraps Merlin in a bear hug, holding his head to his neck and pressing kisses to every part of his face he can reach. 

“Don’t cry,” Merlin whispers, stroking his face. Arthur huffs a self-deprecating laugh and clears his throat, blinking way his tears.

“You are everything in the world to me,” he says gravely. “And I will stop being a prat about Gwaine. Even if I have to employ a full-time therapist.” Merlin snuggles against him, flopping over so that his back’s to Arthur’s chest and he’s facing the television, cradled between Arthur’s legs and arms.

“Can you put _Naked Attraction_ back on to see which one Neil chooses?” he asks hopefully. Arthur reaches for the remote and gives it to Merlin.

“Just know that I’m judging you,” he mutters darkly. Merlin wriggles happily.

 

Later that night Arthur makes love to Merlin slowly, gently, attentively, reverently, kissing and pressing adoration into every part of his sinuous body, revelling in every moan he elicits, Merlin’s flushed face, his sensuously arched back, his parted legs, his nimble fingers holding, soothing, encouraging. Merlin comes with a cry into Arthur’s mouth, then lying on his belly straight into the pillow beneath him, then up on his hands and knees, onto his chest. They touch each other all night.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The night before their wedding Arthur lies in the four poster bed of their honeymoon suite in a Scottish castle, arms behind his head, reflecting that this time tomorrow he’ll no longer be a single man. And that he’s marrying another man in front of all their friends and families and colleagues, which is a pretty enormous leap, given that he was publicly heterosexual and firmly in the closet until his early twenties, largely thanks to his deeply prejudiced and old-fashioned father (who isn’t coming due to ‘business obligations’). He could be married to someone like Mithian now. A very decent, upper middle class, Home Counties, Oxbridge-educated private schoolgirl, with a religious passion for tennis and sushi, all set to be a Range Rover-driving yummy mummy to their two irritatingly over-achieving children. As it is, he’s got a thoroughly tipsy and over-excited soon-to-be- _husband,_ wearing nothing but a bright red David Bowie sweater and ‘Ladies Man’ Homer boxers, brushing his teeth whilst he practices walking down the aisle in their lounge area. Which requires _enormous_ concentration, given that he can’t actually walk in a straight line at the moment. Arthur _knew_ the rehearsal dinner was a bad idea. He watches, amused, as Merlin wobbles fawn-like across their lounge.

“I think I’ve got it!” he announces brightly moments later, tearing off his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor as he climbs into bed and sprawls himself across Arthur. Arthur rolls on top of him, pressing him into the sheets.

“Hi,” Merlin says with a little wave. Arthur cocks his eyebrow.

“Why, hello,” he drawls with a sexy smirk, “fancy seeing you here.”

“I like to _come_ here from time to time,” Merlin says with a mischievous grin, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Is that so?” Arthur asks, lifting his weight on to one elbow, skating a hand across Merlin’s chest with his free hand, lightly grazing his nipples. “I’ll have to see what I can do to convince you to _come_ more often.” Merlin giggles delightedly, hardening immediately under Arthur’s touch, arching against him with a needy sigh. Arthur kisses him and lets a hand travel down to his cock, rubbing and stroking, pumping lightly. It’s weeping in no time. Arthur crawls under the covers and slides an arm under each of Merlin’s thighs, holding him open whilst he licks a long trail from the head of his cock down to his shaft, then to his balls and all the way back to his hole. Merlin gasps, arching upwards, and Arthur sucks down his cock, encouraging Merlin to fuck his mouth whilst he lightly fingers him. It doesn’t take long for Merlin to come whispering Arthur’s name, and then he lies boneless and sated against the sheets. Arthur manoeuvres him into position to comfortably spoon. “What about you?” Merlin protests sleepily.

“It’s okay, I’m tired.” Arthur says easily with a yawn, kissing Merlin’s shoulder. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Big day,” Merlin agrees with a smile, linking his fingers with Arthur’s.

“Did you drink the glass of water I put by the sink for you?” Arthur checks. Merlin nods obediently, half-asleep already. Arthur’s insides glow a little. “Sleep well lamb,” he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Merlin replies drowsily, and he’s out.

*

Arthur wakes at dawn, gradually adjusting to the light in the room, aware of being cold. The duvet has been discarded at some point in the night. He reaches over Merlin to get it and is struck by the sight of Merlin’s graceful body, pale limbs sprawled wide, arm reaching for Arthur. Arthur admires his narrow waist; the dark trail of hair leading down to his glorious cock, nestled in dark, damp curls; his flat, soft belly; his dusky pink nipples. He’s perfect, and he’s _Arthur’s_. Arthur reaches over to the bedside table to find their lube and squeezes a generous amount into his hand, rolling it between his fingers to warm it up, squeezing more onto Merlin’s hole. He stays asleep. Gently, Arthur eases a finger inside him, stroking him to wakefulness. He moves slightly and moans as Arthur adds another finger, working him open, finding the nub of his prostate and rubbing it slowly. Merlin starts groaning in his sleep, rubbing against the sheets, eyelids fluttering as he begins to wake. Arthur kisses his check.

“Hello, lamb,” he whispers, milking the nub between his fingers, “It’s our wedding day day, sweetheart.” Merlin’s eyes open sleepily, face flushed, mouth parted in confused arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against Merlin’s by way of hello. Merlin tentatively pushes his tongue back, groaning again.

“Love you,” he mumbles, eyes closed, sleepily rolling onto his stomach to give Arthur better access. Arthur moves on top of him, chest to his back, thigh to thigh, ankles twisted together, every inch of skin touching as he pushes inside Merlin’s tight heat. He entwines his fingers with Merlin’s, bringing their hands to wrap around Merlin’s chest, face pressed into the crook of Merlin’s neck, cradling Merlin against him tightly. Merlin is sighing in contentment, body pliant, moaning slightly as Arthur starts to withdraw, and to move. He thrusts deep, slow, nudging Merlin’s prostate every time, delighting in Merlin’s incoherent mumblings into the pillow and the warmth of their closeness, pressed into one another.

“You’re so beautiful,” Arthur whispers into his ear, “I’m so proud you’re mine.” Merlin gasps beneath him, fingers clutching his pillow.

“I’m yours,” he promises. Arthur comes inside him deeply, and Merlin comes untouched on the sheets. As soon as he withdraws and rolls onto his back, Merlin curls into his arms.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Arthur says, kissing his hair, his ears, every part of his face.

“Always wake me up, Arthur,” Merlin commands, holding him close as they drift in and out of sleep for another few hours.

*

They part ways after breakfast to spend some final time with their families and best-men, getting ready separately before the wedding.

“See you at the altar,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin against him for a final kiss.

“You better,” Merlin murmurs threateningly, arms wrapped around Arthur’s neck, needily pressing against him.

“Fuck sake,” says Gwaine impatiently, hoisting Merlin backwards by the neck of his t-shirt, “save it for the honeymoon, gents. You love each other very much, snuggles all round, yada yada yada, I’ll make sure he’s there Princess, but we have things to be getting on with now, so if you’ll excuse us.” He salutes and drags Merlin by his neck out of the room, shoving Gwaine and trying to wave goodbye to Arthur.


	9. Chapter 9

The first few instrumental bars of ‘I Will Follow You Into The Dark’ start playing, and Leon bumps Arthur on the shoulder as they turn to look down the aisle, just as little Freya nervously enters the room in a white ballet tutu, proudly glancing at her silver glittery ballet shoes and throwing confetti on the ground as she walks towards Arthur. He gives her a thumbs up encouragingly and she twirls as she nears him. Next comes Mordred, in a dark green kilt, smiling shyly as he carefully carries their rings on a cushion; then Gwen, in a beautiful gold silk dress, gorgeous against her dark skin. At _if heaven and hell decide_ , Merlin enters the room with Hunith, beaming so brightly his face looks like it’s actually glowing, and Arthur smiles so hard he thinks his face might burst. Or his heart. Merlin giggles as he stumbles his way up the aisle with Hunith sobbing beside him, and Arthur thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. His dark curls have been tamed into a stylish parting, and he’s wearing a dark red velvet suit with white flowers in his button hole, complete with top-pocket square and bowtie. He looks ridiculously handsome and suave and grown-up, save for the chestnut brown brogue-boots tied with sparkly silver laces. Arthur laughs and waits impatiently to take his hand. When they finally reach the top of the aisle, and convince Hunith to let go of Merlin with a loud blow of her nose (Arthur’s never been more grateful to Gwaine, who offers her a gentlemanly arm and escorts her to a chair), Arthur takes both Merlin’s hands and squeezes them.

“Hard for you,” he mouths and Merlin snorts, laughing into Arthur’s chest, before looking up at him with a grin, eyes crinkling happily.

“Me too,” he whispers, pressing close to him, “you look devastatingly handsome.” Arthur smiles and kisses his forehead before stepping back and turning to the registrar, who is wearing a shit-eating grin, having heard their entire exchange.

The ceremony goes by in a blur. Arthur has a strange moment where Merlin is putting the simple gold band on his finger and something profound changes within him in that moment; he’s making - and wearing - a public declaration of his commitment to another man, and he’s _proud_ of being brave enough to love him, to openly commit to him, especially as the men in his family don’t traditionally wear rings. Next he’s hit by the sudden realisation that this ring marks him as _taken_. He legally _belongs_ to Merlin, and he’s fantastically pleased with that idea. Merlin senses his emotions and squeezes his hands reassuringly, and then they’re being pronounced “legally married husbands to one another” and it’s time for the kiss and Merlin’s eyes are shining as he looks at Arthur expectantly; he’s waiting for Arthur’s lead on the appropriate level of PDA in front of his legal colleagues and very old school British family. Arthur hates that he’s holding himself back and thinks _what the hell_ and gives Merlin exactly the level of soppy romance and exhibitionism he knows he wants, dipping him low and making out with him like they’re drunk on idiocy at a high-school prom. Merlin wraps his arms around him delightedly, kissing him passionately, and they don’t break apart until Leon hisses _“I think your Aunt Cynthia’s going to have a stroke_ ” - and then they’re walking down the aisle together holding hands, and Arthur can’t quite believe he was quite so Bohemian in front of his bosses, and then there’s champagne and everyone’s shaking his hand and he’s given a ten minute warning before the wedding dinner begins, at which point he slips away into a snug side room to compose himself for a minute, sitting down on a leather sofa to silence his spinning head. He hears the door open and looks up to find Merlin closing it quietly and holds out his arms. Merlin climbs into his lap, pulling him into a hungry kiss, tongue twirling against Arthur’s. He breaks away and takes Arthur’s left hand in his, staring at the gold band on his fingers.

“You wearing this turns me on so much,” he says with a laugh, kissing Arthur’s wedding ring. Arthur smiles into his neck, closing his eyes. “It’s the only thing I want you to wear all honeymoon.”

“I will if you will,” Arthur agrees, kissing Merlin’s cheek, leaning back to look at him properly. “Have I mentioned already that you look _edible_ in that suit?” Merlin grins and jumps up, holding out his hand.

“You’re just hungry. Come on, we have a very fancy meal waiting for us.”


End file.
